The 27th Hunger Games
by ExeliaWave
Summary: Maple lives in District 11, and suffers everyday. When she volunteers for her sister in the Hunger Games, she swears she will come back and take care of her. She plans to do whatever she can to win. But she didn't count on falling in love along the way... (On hold, sorry)
1. Chapter 1

I groan as I stretch my back, gazing at the horrible, hot sun. My lips are dry and cracked, for I hadn't had any water since last night. Grandmother had shooed me out early in the morning, before I had a chance to get a drink. Now my throat's burning and parched, very painful. Working in District 11's fields is a back-breaking labor. It almost makes me glad that the Reaping's today; at least we get the afternoon off.

Almost.

I heft my sickle over my shoulder; let it dig into my neck. I swing the rusted, curved blade at the tall stalks of wheat.

My mother died doing this.

I was seven, and so afraid. My father had died years earlier, when the Capitol discovered that he sold medicine illegally. They caught him in the orchard, gathering herbs, and murdered him brutally - on the spot. Mother was forced to work extra hours in the fields for minimum wage. Finally she died of fatigue, leaving the household to me.

A wail of pure anguish jolts me from my thoughts. I hear the whistle of the whip as it sails through the air, the crack as it collides with human flesh. An aged cry of pain rings through the air, leaving behind the air of agony.

I wince, feeling the man's pain. I press my fingers against the scars on my back, making them tingle.

I remember the first time I got them. I was nine.

I don't remember feeling more pain.

I remember horrible impact as it hit, the bloody mess I was after. My sister, Constance, had dressed it as best as she could, but I never really healed, not really. Thick scars still decorate my back.

I couldn't bear this, I never could. I wrap my long arms around my knees, and rock back, and forth, back, and forth. Back, and forth.

I hear soft footsteps behind me, then a hand softly stroke my tangled hair.

I look up, longing to see my mother, to look into her warm brown eyes, to be engulfed in her soft embrace.

But it's not my mama, it's Cherrie. Her pale blue eyes are gentle, her long blonde hair flowing in the wind. She smiles, as if she understands.

"Are you alright?" She asks kindly.

I whimper in reply.

"It's okay," She whispers soothingly.

I nod.

She pops back to her bubbly self, "Well, come on them! Your dearest friends still have to sort out your mess of hair," She grins, "meaning Orchid and I, of course!"

Then she grabs my hand and yanks me up, then drags me away as fast as a tiny little seamstress can.

* * *

**That is my first Hunger Games fanfic.**

**It may not sound like much right now, but if you read on, I swear it gets better.**

**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

Cherrie finally stops at the orchard, panting, to ask directions. Having worked in her family tailoring business all her life, Cherrie didn't know her way around the fields and orchards and everything else in District 11, unlike Orchid and I. We grew up in down the Shack, the poorer part of District 11, while Cherrie has a cozy little apartment above their shop.

A tall, regal woman points accurately at the tallest tree in the orchard. I smile. Of course Orchid would be there. She flits around the trees like a fairy. I see her now, dancing on the branches, swinging through the leaves without making a sound.

Cherrie, of course, doesn't notice the beauty of Orchid's grace. She grips my wrist, and scurries off, screaming Orchid's name.

I can hear Orchid now, singing to the mockingjays, which are very common in District voice is light and sweet, and rings of freedom. Cherrie's impatient screams interrupts Orchid, who seems to have been woken from a dream, but recovers quickly and swings down lightly with a giggle.

"We have to work on Maple's hair!" Cherrie screams, as if the Reaping wasn't today. She wouldn't be worried; she only has her name in that crystal ball four times, at age fifteen. I have my name in there twenty times, at only sixteen, to support my sister Constance and my grandmother. Orchid, who has to support a family of seven, has her name in there forty times, and is only my age.

Orchid grins, and strides ahead, her long, dark limbs moving gracefully. Cherrie, eccentrically, scurries to catch up, towing me behind.

Orchid leads the way down the long, dusty road in the Shack. We stop in front of an old, broken down cottage, which was once built of strong, steady, dark, wood. It used to be so cozy, friendly. Now, I can't even call it home.

Cherrie drops my hand and the two of them run around to the back. They know full well that Grandmother never lets my friends (or Constance's) into the "house."

I steel my nerves, suck in a big breath, and prepare to face Grandmother. Mama is so different from Grandmother that I'm surprised they're related – by blood!

I press my palm against the old, wooden door. With a gentle push, it swings open with a loud creak. I see Constance in the kitchen, her white blonde curls tumbling down her back. Her emerald green eyes, just like mine, contrasts against Mama's old magenta dress. It's long, and flows softly, tall and willowy, just like Constance.

At only eighteen, Constance fills the role of mother. Grandmother is not motherly – not one bit! Only two years older than me, Constance is much more mature. She never breaks a rule and always has advice to give. She knows so much, and yet she's never confident. She's as fragile as a flower, so easily broken. She's never taken out tesserae, for I never let her. She doesn't argue either; she knows she'll never survive if she gets reaped.

Grandmother is crisp and clean among our messy home, her white blonde hair twisted up in a tight bun. She's tall and slim, sharp and strict. As if to prove my point, she takes one glance at me and starts barking orders.

"Stop slouching, you ingrate! Don't you dare get that grain over my house! Why are you dressed like that? Your mother's old overalls? Didn't she ever teach you how to dress? Or any etiquette?" She snaps at me.

Anger boils inside me, steaming from my ears. My vision turns red with rage, and my fists are so tight that my nails leave dents in my palms. I loathe that old witch. All that matters to her is our appearance. She doesn't care that we're slowly starving to death, or that if I get reaped, our family is doomed. I take a step forward, planning my attack, anticipating her shocked expression. I'll remember that moment forever, when I get my revenge on Grandmo-

Constance tugs softly on my hand, interrupting my evil fantasy. I'm glad she did; I wouldn't be doing us any good if I maimed Grandmother. I let her lead me up the stairs to my bedroom, and then sit me down on my mattress.

"Relax," she says, patting my back, soothing me, "Calm."

I breathe deeply, releasing my anger.

A light thud sounds by my shattered window. Orchid stands there, her dark, silky hair floating without any breeze. She leans out, grips something heavy, and yanks with all her might. Cherrie comes flying in, landing on her back on my straw-stuffed mattress, bring Orchid down with her.

Orchid pops back up with a muffled giggle, while Cherrie groans and gripes about her back. Constance stifles a laugh, and hands Cherrie a brush. The three of them begin, yanking on my hair.

* * *

Half an hour later, after tearing out my tangles, scrubbing till my skin was raw, and picking the grain out of my fingernails, I stood before the mirror, shocked at my reflection. Cherrie and Orchid had left already, to get themselves ready. Constance is off somewhere, and I'm staring into the mirror.

Is that really me?

My dark red hair is rolling down my back, instead of its usual tangle. My soft gold skirt contrasts against my green eyes. I've never felt pretty before. I was always the rock in the family. I had no time to be pretty.

I didn't have time now, either. Constance is dragging me out to the Reaping, and Grandmother is barking orders.  
By the time I join the other people my age, Orchid is already there, seeming to float in her lavender dress. I spot Cherrie's blonde hair with the other fifteen-year-olds. Constance is biting her lip, fidgeting prettily.

I barely hear Gigi Sarneski, our Capitol representative, give her usual boring speech. Peggy and Craw, our victors, sit fidgeting on the stage.

Finally, I hear Gigi squeal, "Now, let's find out who our girl is going to be this year!"

She shoves her hand into the glass ball and makes a big show out of rummaging around.

I hold my breath, the suspense killing me.

At last, she chooses a slip, and announces it excitedly.

And it's not me.

It's even worse.

* * *

**Thank you to Tigerlils for reviewing, it was welcomed warmly. Please review some more, the criticism is needed. Thank you so so much for reading.**


	3. Chapter 3

"Constance Donsdale!" Gigi squeaks into the microphone, barely containing her excitement.

I can't move, can't breathe. I feel as if all the oxygen has been has been sucked out of the world and I'm suffocating. I watch through horrified eyes as Constance takes to the stage, her beautiful features quaking in fear. I'm paralyzed as Gigi shouts out her name to all of Panem, as she calls for volunteers.

I jerk out of my trance as soon as Gigi utters that word. I have to save Constance, I have too. She'll never survive if she gets dunked into that arena. She might just as well have been sentenced to death.

"I volunteer!" I screech, before I can think about what I'm doing, "I volunteer!"

A gasp ripples through the crowd. Never, in twenty-six years, had there ever been a volunteer in District 11. This moment would go down in history.

"Excellent!" Gigi squeaks, clearly delighted that District 11 has a volunteer – and that she witnessed it, "Come on up, you beauty!"

I walk shakily up the stage, taking in everyone's shocked expressions. Constance's face is heartbroken, furrowed with worry. Cherrie is sobbing into her hands. Orchid's eyes are closed, dealing with yet another loss.

Grandmother is the only calm one. Her thin lips are twisted into a smirk, yet her eyes are sad. As if she was slightly upset about the loss of her granddaughter.

"What's your name, sweetie?" Gigi asks, taking my hand.

"Donsdale. Maple Donsdale," I murmur.

"Well, looks like we have an ambitious tribute this year. Volunteered for your sister, did you? Didn't want for her to take the victory from you, eh?"

I glare at her.

"Well, okay then! You aren't very talkative, are you? And now, for our boy tribute… Escany Marinescu!"

Marinescu is an idiot. He has no idea how to harvest wheat, or pick fruits, or plant cabbage. The peacekeepers make him clean up the rotten food, and he messes up on that too.

Marinescu bounds up the stage energetically, and grins at me cockily. I can almost hear the crowd sigh in relief. At least no one will be mad if I kill him.

I rinse that thought from my mind. I won't have to kill him. There will be twenty-three other tributes he has to face.

"Alrighty then! Shake hands, you two. District 11, feast your eyes on the tributes for the 27th Hunger Games!" Gigi says happily.

No one claps.

Good.

At least I won't die unremembered.

Marinescu looks disappointed, as if he wanted District 11 to be excited that he was going into the Games.

Idiot.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Then we were shoved into the Justice building, the doors cutting us off from the world.

* * *

**Please review! Constructive criticism is welcomed! Thank you to Tigerlils for giving me all that advice. I'll update soon. Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

I sink into a plush red velvet armchair. Locked inside an overly decorated room, I wait for visitors. I wonder what Grandmother would say to me, if she comes at all.

The door swings open violently. Constance is shaking in the doorway. She takes one look at me, and breaks down. Her shoulders quake and she sobs openly. I wrap my arms around her frail body, holding her as she weeps.

"You have to win," Constance hiccups between sobs, "You have to. I need you! Cherrie and Orchid needs you. Grandmother needs you!"

The thought of Grandmother needing me almost makes me laugh. Yeah, right.

"I'll come back," I promise, "To cause you more trouble, and make Grandmother angrier."

She laughs as she sobs.

She lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes are red and puffy, and yet she still manages to look beautiful.

"I don't care who you kill or what you have to do to win," She says, the helplessness in her voice transformed into determination, "Come back to us."

"I… I… I…" I stutter.

The door swings open, and peacekeepers swarm in. One grips Constance by the arm.

"Promise me!" She screams, "Promise me!"

"I… I promise."

Then the peacekeepers drag her bodily from the room. I swear one of them took advantage of her distracted position.

* * *

Cherrie and Orchid comes in next. Cherrie is sobbing uncontrollably, and flings herself into my arms, weeping into my shoulder.

Orchid is much more composed, but tears are trickling down her cheeks nevertheless. She wipes them away quickly.

"Swear to me," Cherrie sobs dejectedly, "Swear to me, to us, that you'll come back."

"You have my word," I say, convincing myself more than her.

The three of us sit on the couch silently, savoring our last moments together.

By the time the peacekeepers come, we've wept all our tears, and said our goodbyes.

"I lost my cousin this way," Orchid tells me, wiping one last tear from her dark-skinned cheeks.

Then the peacekeepers lead them away from me.

* * *

To my shock, Grandmother comes.

"Maple," she says.

I'm still stunned.

"Maple!" She cries, "Listen to me! You think me an old witch, and I don't blame you. But treating you this way, it was all part of my plan."

This stirs me out of my shock.

"Everything I did, to anger you, make you protective of Constance, to make you volunteer in her place, was for the Hunger Games."

"What?!" I scream.

"Don't you see? If I was a loving grandmother, you would never have volunteered for Constance. Now that you have, you'll make the Donsdales famous. When you win, we'll go down in history!" She cries gleefully.

I'm speechless.

"Oh Maple, I've succeeded! Ratting your father out to the Capitol, forcing your mother to work until she died, it was all worth it! You'll make us famous!" She says with relish.

I'm horrified. I can't believe her. She did all that to send her granddaughter to die? She killed Father, and Mama, all so that she could send her granddaughter out with a slim chance of victory? Now she wants me to thank her for being a murderer, for verbally abusing her granddaughters?

This is unbelievable. This is disgusting. This is so evil, even for Grandmother.

"I have only two words, Grandmother. Get out," I hiss, my vision turning red, as it always did when I'm furious.

"What? Don't you see? I've done us all good!"

"Get out!" I scream.

Grandmother slaps me across the face, hard, "You little ingrate! After all I've done for you, you do this to me? Everything I've done, it was for you!"

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to swing the elegantly engraved lamp straight at her head, "No. You did it all for you." I rap sharply against the elaborately carved door, and the peacekeepers burst in.

Grandmother screeches words of bloody murder at me. She's killed plenty of times, so I guess it was easy for her.

"Bye, Grandmother. I hope you die a painful death, like you did to my parents," I say, my face a mask of ice.

Inside, though, I was red hot with rage. Flames coaxed from my heart and boiling my fury. I have no words for what I want to do to her. I…I…I want to do far more than to kill her…

The door swings open once more. My neighbor enters, looking hesitant.

"I came to wish you luck," He whispers, his potbelly straining against his shirt, "I hope we can end our, um, disagreeable relationship."

Disagreeable relationship? We despise each other. He's rich. He built this giant house in the Shack, just to brag. When Mama died, Constance and I went begging to his door, scrawny and half-dead, for a coin or two.

He'd turned us with a brisk shake of the head, telling us that we wouldn't be in this position if Father had just gotten a job at the fields, instead of "wasting his time brewing useless herbs."

I'd slapped him across the face then, leaving an angry red mark on his bulging cheeks. Then I snatched Constance's hand and ran, our skinny limbs scurrying away. He'd tried to toddle after us, screaming words, that, as a seven-year-old, I didn't understand.

Now he wants to be friends?

There is no way, ever, that I will befriend a jerk like him. Stupid Tobias. Why did he want this anyway? I mean, he's rich, there's nothin-

He's rich.

Money + friends = sponsors.

I need sponsors. I won't survive without them.

Amazing what you'd do to survive.

"Did you hear my conversation with Grandmother?" I ask him.

He nods, his double chin tripling.

"Tell Constance."

He grins, knowing that I accept him. He engulfs me in an unwanted hug, his flabby arms against my bare ones. I push him back, disgust twisting my features.

"Don't touch me," I snarl. I watch his obese face fall, drooping, "Or I'll rip off your skin."

Then I shove him out the door.

* * *

When Gigi comes to collect me, Escany Marinescu is with her. He's bobbing up and down like a puppet, clearly excited to board the train to the Capitol. Gigi is giggling, mooning over Craw. Craw is the name on everyone's lips, and of course he would be. With his glistening Caribbean blue eyes, and flop of dark hair, he's District 11's subject of lust. Peggy looks indifferent in the corner, her stringy blonde hair braided over one shoulder, her eyes, which were once filled with a beautiful twinkle, are dull from so many years of watching her tributes die.

Peggy was beautiful once. Her blonde hair was glossy and lustrous, her gray eyes sparkling. She had men lining up around the block. But when she was reaped for the Hunger Games, everyone shied away from her like the plague. She barely survived the Games. The only reason she did was because she was beautiful, even in the gory arena. She had sponsors fighting over her. The Careers took advantage of her, keeping her alive only for their pleasure. In the end, the last two tributes simultaneously killed each other, leaving Peggy as the victor.

Peggy never healed. Watching so many children die only deepened the gaping wound. Her depression chased away her admirers, even her most loyal lovers. No one wanted to be the one to sew up her wound. So they all ran away.

Craw is the only one that keeps trying. Everyone knows that he loves her. But Peggy shut everyone out. Craw is just plain stubborn. He never gives up, no matter how many of his worshipers beg him to forget about her. His love for her never stops burning. It breaks my heart.

A delicious smell sneaks into my thoughts. Oh, I've never smelled anything like it. The food Constance makes, even with her amazing motherly skills, has never smelled so good. Perhaps it's the gross tesserae I have sign up for. Either way, it makes me drool. I turn, as if in a trance, to gape at the elaborate meal provided for us.

I wish I could describe it, but I can't. Marinescu is already wolfing down everything he can reach. I join him, ignoring the cutlery, gorging on everything with my hands. Craw laughs good-heartedly, and thumps me on the back, telling me to eat up. Gigi glares at me disdainfully before gluing herself to Craw's side. Craw completely ignores her. He flops down next to Peggy and swings an arm around her shoulder. I think I almost glimpse a tear, glistening as it runs down her cheek.

Poor Peggy. She's afraid to open her heart, even to someone so devoted to her.

Mmm, chocolate. I've never had any before. The treat completely distracts me from everything else. But before I can reach for one, Marinescu dumps the whole pile onto his plate.

I'm devastated. I want chocolate. After everything I've been through, don't I deserve some?

Craw catches my distressed expression. He laughs, jostling Peggy around. Grinning, he gestures to an Avox and whispers into her ear. The pretty girl smiles, as if she would laugh if she could, and disappears into the kitchen. A minute later, she appears at my side, carrying a silver platter. With a dramatic flourish, she lifts the lid, places the platter in front of me, and scurries away, her shoulders shaking as she laughs silently.

I blink before turning my attention to the plate in front of me. I gasp in shock. I have never seen anything like it. It's a volcano, surrounded by fresh fruit. It's spilling chocolate in every direction, splattering the fruit. Marinescu is green with envy, and both Craw and the Avox are shaking with laughter. Gigi snags a strawberry, and tries to eat it sexily. It's kind of hard to do that though, when your skin is dyed hot pink and your green hair is sticking out in all directions. In fact, she looks ridiculous. Seeming to realize that her eating had no effect on Craw, she flutters her pea green eyelashes at him seductively. I nearly choke with laughter.

When we finish stuffing ourselves, I feel sick. I can't hold another bite. Craw is laughing at me again. Even Peggy sports the hint of a smile. I toddle over to the other room with the others to watch the recap of the Reaping. Collapsing on the couch, I realize how much I feel like fat Tobias from the Shack. I vow that I'll never eat so much ever again.

I watch the recap start. My giddy mood fades. District 1's boy, a bulky, stocky boy with a gleaming bald head lunges forward to volunteer. Glint. That's his name. I'm terrified. This is only the first district, and I can barely breathe.

How am I supposed to survive this?

* * *

**I hope you liked this last chapter. Also, don't worry, I'll finish the recap of the Reaping next chapter. :D**

**Gigi, if you haven't already figured it out, is crazy. She's gonna go... um, I really don't know. See, I can't exactly drive her insane; she's District 11's escort. She is very shallow though.**

**And about the chocolate thing, it has really nothing to do with the story. I just thought it would be fun to make Maple go ballistic over chocolate. **

**By the way, Peggy does get her happy ending.**

**Also, please please PLEASE review. Please? It would mean so much to me.**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

I watch the Recap silently. Gigi makes random comments as she goes. It's so annoying; I want to brain her with the elaborate vase beside me. Craw seems to notice this and doubles over laughing. And Peggy is, well, Peggy. She's silently sitting in her armchair, her face blank, expressionless. It's depressing, watching her. I have to turn away.

District 1 has its usual giant, stocky boy, this time with intricately gelled spiky hair. The girl that volunteers is so beautiful, but I don't see anything menacing about her.

District 2 has a tall, quiet boy that volunteers reluctantly. The girl is fierce, frightening.

District 7's boy is enormous. The Careers will want him.

District 12's first volunteer is a tall, determined looking blonde. Her hair waves down her back, with shades of copper. The boy is huge.

* * *

When Constance was reaped, she looked, well, beautiful. And terrified. Me, on the other hand, I looked desperate. That's not what I had in mind. I didn't terrifying, nor beautiful, just desperate. Will anyone want to sponsor me?

Marinescu looked like an idiot.

* * *

But the one that stood out the most is District 4. A little blonde girl with long braids is reaped this year, the youngest of all of us. She looks terrified. But no one volunteers for her, just murmurs, gossips. Such cold-blooded beings; apparently they all just want to watch her die.

When the boy is called, Stark Decidence, cheers emanate through the crowd. The cameras whirl to focus on a tall, lanky boy, about seventeen, with unruly black hair and piercing green eyes. Emotions flicker across his face; shock, then fear, rage, then sorrow. So fast I barely saw them. Then an arrogant smile quickly takes its place, covering his real thoughts, and he strides down the aisle, up to the stage. A little hand reaches out to him, a girl, maybe twelve, with his black hair and green eyes. He grips it for just a moment, then makes his way up to the stage.

His sister.

Rage. That's the first thing I feel. Forcing him to part with his sister, maybe his last living relative. District 4 cheers him on, no one knowing his true intentions, no one volunteering.

* * *

Gigi perkily picks up the remote, turning the television off. The screen fades into darkness with a soft _beep_. She whirls around to flutter her long, freaky eyelashes at Craw, before grinning at us.

"So," She squeals, "What do you think?"

I blink at her.

"They're nothing against me!" Marinescu (le idiot) scoffs.

I snort.

Marinescu is seriously the most stupid guy on the face of Panem.

"I am DA BOMB!" Shrieks Marinescu.

I turn and leave.

* * *

**Well, that was short.**

**But hopefully it was good as well. :)**

**I created Marinescu from a guy in my LA class. Seriously. He wrote (All over the whiteboard) and I quote, "Jacob is Da BOMB!"**

**Sheesh.**

**Idiots.**

**Then some other guy wrote, "No, Ambrose is Da BOMB!"**

**Grrr.**

**Boys are stupid.**

**Also, if you could please check out my other Fanfic, ****_Blinded, _****I would very much appreciate it.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**- Hidden**

**PS. Please review.**

**PPS. Please?**

**PPPS. Please please please please please?**


	6. Chapter 6

I toss and turn in my fancy Capitol bed; I can't sleep. Just can't. The fluffy pillows are suffocating, the lightweight blankets entwining me into their web. I miss home; I miss my coarse, frayed sheets, and my scratchy mattresses. I miss Constance's warmth beside me.

Finally, I give up. I haul myself out of bed and down the hall. Intent on finding a calm, peaceful place to stare at absolutely nothing, I wander through the building.

There. A large, floor-length window, overlooking the twinkling lights of the Capitol. Apparently no one slept at night here. They just strolled down the street, laughing and talking and gossiping.

I feel myself relax. Here, where I can watch and not be seen. Here, is where I can feel safe.

Soft voices trail down the corridor, one pleading with another. Curiosity strikes, and I have to follow those whispered words. Padding barefoot down the halls, I peer through the door. Sitting on the balcony, legs dangling over the edge, is Craw, clutching Peggy's slim hand. He's begging Peggy to give him a chance, to try to love again.

Peggy's sobbing silently, shaking her head tearfully. She's quivering all over, petite shoulders quaking. Finally she just pushes Craw away altogether, picks herself up and runs weeping from the room. I shrink against the walls, hoping she doesn't see me. And, through her tears, she doesn't.

I peek again into the room. Craw has his head in his hands, his back hunched over.

"You can come out now," He whispers.

I creep out of the shadows, slipping from the safety of the dark.

"How did you know I was there?" I ask softly.

He sighs, "Because there's always somebody, isn't there?"

I blink.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way," He says, "Come in."

* * *

"I love her," Craw whispers, "You know I do."

I nod.

"But she won't let me in," He groans, "She won't let me love her. Those damn Games broke her, and broke her bad. I don't know what to do."

I remember that haunted look in Peggy's eyes, that shattered spirit.

"I'm not letting that happen to you."

I stare up at him in shock.

"W-why?" I stutter.

He smiles gently, "You remind me so much of her."

I blink, "Peggy?"

"No. My little sister. Remy," He says, "She was Reaped just a few years ago. I was her mentor, and I watched her die."

"Oh," I gasp.

"You're so much like her. That sincere spirit, that fierce loyalty," He sighs, "That fiery compassion. You're both so self-righteous, and you hate getting proved wrong. Am I right?" He smiles slightly, "I'm not watching you die. Come back for me." Then he gets to his feet, his blue eyes glittering in the moonlight.

"Come on," He says, "It's time for bed."

"I-I think I'll stay for a little longer."

He smiles, "So much like her."

Then he takes one last look at the glittering Capitol lights, and I swear I saw hatred flicker on his face.

* * *

I sit staring out the balcony, digesting what Craw said. It seems impossible. I mean, obviously, mentors always want their district to win. But Craw wants me to win, _personally._

I remember her Games. Sweet little Remy, Reaped at only twelve. She made it quite far, till the final eight. Then she was caught by the Careers. A couple days earlier she'd destroyed their weapons, leaving them with a scheme of revenge. They killed her with stones.

And Craw had to watch.

Oh.

* * *

**How was that?**

**I was so out of ideas. Next will be the tribute parade.**

**You'll never guess her costume.**

**Hee hee.**

** - Hidden**

**PS. I forgot to mention. REVIEW!**

**PPS. Please.**

**PPPS. Please?**


	7. Chapter 7

When I met my prep team, they seemed friendly enough.

Craw had warned me to be prepared for the worst, and I was.

But when I finally saw them, face to face, they were so sweet, if dressed a little crazily.

Now, I can't wait to get away from them.

They're way too perky, and have no sense of privacy. I was stripped clean, and have had all my hair torn from my body. It was incredibly painful while they dug _all _the dirt from under my nails. My skin is shiny and red, and I'm aching all over. They drowned me in some greenish-gray bath and dumped goop on my head. But I didn't say a word.

Because, in truth, I liked feeling cared for.

I winced again as Carno, a tiny little man with light purple skin and striking orange hair, yanked a brush roughly through my hair. Sania, Carno's twin, has icy blue skin and snow white hair. And Pric, who's working on my toenails, has short, spiky black hair, and sparkly gold skin. I can't really tell if she/he's female or male, for she/he's not quite feminine or masculine. I found this fashion style rather confusing. Did the Capitol citizens enjoy pretending to be neither male nor female?

They chatter as they work. Pric seems to be the shy one, because she/he rarely chimes in. Finally, they pull me up to meet my stylist, still buck naked, and scurry off.

* * *

I really dislike my stylist.

Actually, dislike is too mild a word. How about… Loathe. Or perhaps detest. Despise, abhor, etc! I can't stand this insufferable woman.

First, she's a round and sky blue, with glittering evergreen hair. She doesn't talk, like my perky prep team, instead ordering me to do this and that in a deep, gruff voice.

As she approves me to put on my outfit, I can see her get more and more excited. It's even scarier. Finally, she blindfolds me with a coarse cloth, tangles something on me, tears off my blindfold and swivels the mirror toward me.

I am shocked into silence.

"Isn't it amazing?" She squeals in her deep voice, "I wanted to do something we've never down before, and you fit this costume perfectly! You're so tall and skinny, just like those icky stalks of wheat," She sighs dreamily.

She's still jabbering as I examine my outfit.

A skimpy, drab yellow scrap of fabric with a giant W stenciled into the smack-center barely covers my chest. To match my district, Ozia has actually glued bits of grain onto the 'costume.' My extremely short skirt matches my top, an unfortunate event in my case. A short, filmy, yellow 'cape' flows off my shoulders and down to a little above mid-thigh. I'm wearing tall, high-heeled yellow boots, also covered in grain. Yellow gloves to match. My dark red hair is piled up on my head, bits of wheat and glitter scattered into it. It's a nightmare.

To make matters worse, she plunks me down onto the cushioned chair, and applies my make-up ecstatically. Then she orders me to shut my eyes, stands me up, shakes some sort of bottle, and soon I'm getting sprayed with something wet.

When I'm allowed to "marvel at my reflection," I almost dash out of the room. But I glance in the mirror nonetheless. Steeling my nerves, I turn to see, and almost collapse. It's even worse.

My lips are painted a bright, starchy orange. My cheeks are powdered also in orange, and my eyelashes are caked with dark goop, thick and heavy.

And, worst of all…

… I'm covered head to toe in golden body glitter.

"Oh! I forgot!" Ozia rumbles around the room, finally coming up with sparkly gold nail polish, "You need glittery nails to match your SuperWheat outfit!"

Wait – what? Super… what?

"What?" I almost shriek, "Super – what?"

She looks surprised, "Why, SuperWheat, of course! You see, we wanted to do something original. District 11 is, like, our base! We need agriculture to thrive in our amazing Capitol. So, you guys are like, superheroes!" She gestures to the giant W in the middle of my chest, "But we couldn't think of a good name for Panem's superheroes. So we asked around, you know? When I asked that charming companion of yours, that wonderful boy Escany Marinescu, I just had a _feeling!_ So when he told me, with that adorable grin of his, 'SuperWheat!' I just knew. It's _perfect!"_

I am speechless again.

* * *

I had to get away from her as soon as I could. She's so excited about District 11's superheroes, I could barely escape with my sanity. I spend the entire time waiting with my arms crossed over my chest. After all, I am half-naked.

I'm left undisturbed for a while, until District 1's male, the giant, stocky boy with the gelled spikes, caught sight of me. He's dressed in a shiny metallic full suit, covered with millions of gems. He grins wickedly at me, and I cower against my seat.

He stalks over, plops down beside me, uncomfortably close; the hair on his arms brushing my (still stinging) ones. I scoot over quietly, aware that I'm barely dressed, and that he's way too close.

He follows.

I whimper.

"What's that?" He drawls, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Nothing," I squeak too quickly.

Quint Flickerman is up on the television, chatting with Klutter Monk. Music plays in the Background, and Glint (the District 1 male) seizes his chance.

"Let's dance, Eleven," He says, grabbing my arm and pulling me up against his broad chest before I had a chance to protest. His other arm encircles my waist and presses me against his gem studded costume.

"Uh, no thanks," I stutter even as he begins to sway.

He doesn't even acknowledge me.

"_I said, no_!" I shout, shoving him away. He's so surprised that he actually stumbles back a few steps, before he regains his balance.

He's angry. Very angry.

"God! What's your problem, _bitch_?" He snarls.

I say nothing, only turn around and exit the room.

As I scurry down the hall, my arms over my chest, I run smack into District 4, the boy with black hair. My force sends us both toppling to the ground.

"Sorry," I mutter, picking myself up.

He grins charmingly at me, "No harm done!"

Then he inspects my costume thoroughly.

"So, what are you?" He asks.

I glare at the ground, "SuperWheat."

He bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach and doubling over, "S-superWheat?!" He cackles.

I am suddenly very indignant, "Hey, I wouldn't be saying anything if I were you!" And it's true. He's wearing something that looks like a sheet, wound around him, over and over.

He laughs ever harder.

My lips can't help but twitch.

"Well, what the hell are you?" I demand, "And why are you wearing sheets?"

He's still laughing as he chokes out, "I-I'm supposed to some kind of sea god, and the 'sheets' are called t-togas!"

And we erupt into hysterical laughter right there in the halls.

When I board the chariot with Marinescu, I examine his costume carefully. He looks like me, but he gets to wear a full suit, heavier boots, and and a less substantial cape.

When the doors swing open, and our stylists shout encouragements, Marinescu grins like, well, and idiot. He waves and blows kisses, striking superhero poses. Me, on the other hand, I remain calm, standing still and occasionally granting a polite smile or wave. My arms are still crossed over my chest, even after Ozia told me not to. Oh well. I just crossed them again after.

I could feel so many eyes on me. It was okay, at least for a while, until Marinescu ruined it all.

He suddenly raised one fist in the air, the other on his hip, jutted out his chin, puffed up his chest, and screamed, "SuperWheat!"

Oh. My. God. Kill me now.

The guy with the dark hair and toga that laughed at me earlier, caught my gaze, and grinned cockily. He raised an eyebrow, before turning away with a wink.

That doesn't cure my humiliation.

* * *

When the chariots finally pull into their stations, we are swarmed with people. My stylist, Marinescu's stylist, both our prep teams, Gigi, and Craw are all there. Peggy is nowhere to be seen, but Craw is laughing his head off. Everyone else is congratulating us. Or Marinescu, to be exact. I was a definite disappointment, with my tortured expression and infuriated glare. Ozia even stops her squealing to scold me. Whatever. I'm not here to entertain the Capitol, I'm here to win.

I sneak away from them as soon as I could, and dash toward the shiny silver machine called the elevator. I push the 'UP' button frantically, itching to escape to my room, and rub off the make-up. It feels like an eternity before the door slides opens. When it finally does, I rush in bang on the 'CLOSE' button. Then the shiny doors slide close and I sigh in relief, resting my forehead against the cool metal doors.

"So," A voice drawls behind me, "Who're you hiding from this time, SuperWheat?"

With a gasp, I spin around and crash against the metal wall before landing in a heap on the floor. Eyes wide, I turn my face up to see the passenger I never noticed. Then I catch that messy black hair, the luminous green eyes, and the mischievous grin.

"Oh," I sigh in relief, "It's only you."

He grins, "What do you mean, it's only me? Am I not special enough for you?"

I smile, "No, I just thought that you were someone else."

His smile grows wider and he holds out his hand to help me up. I grasp it to heave myself up. I can't help but notice how big and warm his calloused hand is. My hand is engulfed in his, my scrawny fingers almost completely covered by his large ones.

We ride in silence for a while, the elevator gliding up smoothly. I lean against the back of the metal elevator compartment, cross my arms over my chest.

When the elevator declares Floor 4 with a beep, he grins at me and strolls toward the doors. They glide open and he steps out. As if on an afterthought, he turns to look at me.

"Hey, you've never told me your name," He says with a grin.

I smile back, "Maple," I say, "Its Maple."

Just as the elevator doors slide shut, he winks, "Stark."

And then the doors close and the machine moves up.

With a sigh, I slump against the wall.

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait, but I was really busy. I hope the long chapter makes up for it. :)**

**As for those who are reading my SYOT, don't worry, next chapter will be up soon.**

**Anyways, I hoped you like it, and thanks for reading!**

**El**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry it's been so long, but I been really busy. Busy meaning GOING TO ORLANDO, FLORIDA, TO DISNEYWORLD! Yeah, that's right, I was in DISNEYWORLD! Okay, that's enough shrieking about vacation, let's get down to business. Here's Maple's first day training.**

* * *

After a dreamless night, I was awakened by an annoying Gigi tapping persistently and way too perkily on my door.

"Wake uuuuup!" She says in a sing-song voice, "Up up up up up up up!"

I groan and bury my head under the big, puffy pillow. Gigi continues on mercilessly, energetically tapping and tapping.

"You have a big, big, big, day today!" She sings. I mutter profanities at her and moan, before yanking a pillow off my bed and hurling it at the thick oak door. It hits the slab of wood with a loud _thunk_, causing Gigi to squeak in alarm and indignation.

"Why, that's not very nice at all! Have some respect, you little ingrate!" She cries angrily, before storming off to sulk. I hear her heels clacking as she stalks away.

Sighing in relief, I burrow back into bed and shut my eyes blissfully.

"Maple!" I hear Craw scream through thick wooden door, "Get up _now_! Breakfast is over and training begins in fifteen minutes!" He bangs the door angrily, sending vibrations all throughout the room.

My eyes flutter open and I glance at the clock by my bed. It reads "9 : 15 am" in glaring red lights.

"Holy ****!" I cry, jolting up in bed and tumbling off the mattress in a puddle of limbs and blankets. "Be right there! Give me a minute!"

"Forty-five seconds!" Craw shouts back.

I scramble off the floor and dash to the bathroom, running a brush through my tangled mahogany curls and throwing water on my face. I select the first outfit I see in the machine by my closet and it brings it to me on mechanical arms. I yank it on without looking at it and glance in the mirror. I'm a mess; my hair a rats' nest and deep bags under my eyes. But it's good enough and I yank open the door before racing out, running straight into Craw. He raises an eyebrow at my appearance, but lets it go. I can tell he doesn't really care either.

"That was fifty seconds," He states blandly and before starting toward the training room.

When I arrive the long speech is over, and all the other tributes are already at some station showing off. Marinescu is flexing his non-existent muscles at the weight lifting center, winking at the girl from Two. She rolls her icy gray eyes and flips her pony-tail, heaving up an eighty pound weight without breaking a sweat. Marinescu, the idiot, grins and winks again. This time, I roll my eyes along with Two.

The main instructor shoots me a dirty look, clearly upset that she didn't get to recite her boring speech to every single tribute. I ignore her and start toward the edible plants, not at all excited to start training. It's really easy, considering I'm from Eleven, the agricultural district. I pass with 83%. The instructor looks disappointed, but that's the best he's going to get; Marinescu can't tell the difference between a dandelion and an apple.

After that I head toward knot-tying, successfully rigging a trap and just as successfully getting caught in it. I'm hanging upside-down with my foot caught in the rope, randomly flailing my arms, when someone slices through the rope smoothly and I collapse, on my head, in a heap on the floor.

"Ow!" I wince, scooting onto my butt and tugging on the rope attached to my ankle, "That cannot be good for my brain cells."

A laugh makes its way through my pain and I look up, confused. I notice the teasing green eyes, laughing at me – again.

I groan. "How come you always manage to catch me in my most embarrassing moments?" I rub my sore ankle.

He laughs again. " 'Cause I'm just that good."

I resist the urge to stick out my tongue like a five-year-old and punch him. Then I change my mind and do it anyways.

This results in another laugh.

And so I punch him again, harder. This time it's much more satisfying.

"Ow!" He yelps, massaging his arm, where a red mark is starting show. One the exact size of my fist. "What was that for?"

I grin mischievously.

"You hit hard," He mutters grumpily.

"What do you think the results of harvesting wheat since I was seven are? For minimum wage, may I add, so we had to work extra shifts to raise our families."

He looks surprised, "Since you were seven? I didn't know that was legal."

I glare at him, "In District Eleven it is."

He grins, and I resist the urge to slap him. That stupid, charming, arrogant grin. Ugh!

He takes me over to the wrestling station and teaches me the techniques of the bodily sport. I don't like it, but when I think about Constance, and leaving her with Grandmother, I forge on, forcing myself to keep going. For Constance.

I have him in a headlock, his unruly curls brushing my chin. He laughs infuriatingly and cups the back of my thigh with one large hand. This completely distracts me – I mean, what does he think he's doing? Middle of training, in the wrestling station, of them all. While I have him in a headlock!

Then he snatches the backs of my knees and flips me over, onto the matt with a thud. Bewildered, I lie dazed, my head spinning as I try to gather my thoughts. Suddenly he's crouching over me, keeping me firmly on the ground. He captures my wrists and pins them over my head, leaving me no means of escape.

" You've been bested," He says smugly, "So yield."

An idea strikes. "Oh, really?" I smirk.

He looks confused. "Wha-"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence as I quickly bring my knee up into his stomach, causing him to double over with a groan. I yank my wrists out of his grip and take hold of his shoulders, using them and my knee to send Stark flying over my head, crashing into a stack of dummies.

I pick myself up, brush off invisible specks of dust, and saunter over to where Stark lies groaning and whining.

"Where did you learn _that_?" He mutters angrily, heaving himself up on his elbows.

I grin. "My mother taught it to me."

"Great," He whines, "Who is she? Penny Loafer?"

Penny Loafer is the most vicious female victor so far. She came from District 2 (no surprise. All the freaky ones came from Two). She decapitated every single one of her victims – which was quite a few – _after_ she diced most of their limbs into bits. Then she dumped their bits into the nearest body of water.

"No. She's dead," I reply bitterly.

He's silent, for once.

"Come on!" Stark cries, "Please?"

I roll my eyes. "Why?"

He gives me the puppy-dog eyes. "If you're that good at wrestling, you must be _amazing_ with a sword."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what is the similarity between the two?"

He only winks.

Which is how I learned to wield a sword.

Half an hour later, I'm clutching a humongous sword and soaked with sweat, while Stark looks perfectly relaxed, even grinning as he beats me again and again.

I go for his head and he blocks it easily, our weapons clanging together. He strikes and I parry. I swing left for a leg and he dodges with ease. Finally I switch tactics and step back, waiting for him to come at me instead. He refuses to attack, just standing there with that infuriating grin. I glare at him, but it doesn't seem to work. And so I mimic him, refusing to attack.

He narrows his eyes, stalling. I have to admit; he's really good at this. I have no idea how to do this. He's had me at sword point – with _my_ sword in his hand – three times already. I'm black and blue but he's not even sporting a scratch. My breath is raspy, my hands blistered, and my mahogany hair drenched with sweat. I guess training really helps.

He tires and takes his chance, swinging his sword at me harshly. I dodge and go for his abdomen, but I miss and he knocks the sword out of my hand, trips me skillfully with one foot, and his blade is at my throat.

And he's grinning triumphantly.

"I give up!" I cry in exasperation, "I am _never_ going to get this!"

He just laughs.

A band of Avoxes setting up an enormous banquet down the hall catches my eye. The long tables are laden with millions of foods I have never even dreamed of looking at, much less eating. Soups, meats, even desserts, are laid out in piles. There are tiny little pastries in every flavor ever made; chocolate, mango, lemon, vanilla, blueberry, strawberry, etc! Sweet meats, sour meats, salted meats, dried meats, spicy meats, and more are laid out by a bazillion different fruits I've never heard of. The drinks range from alcohol to berry punch and the exquisite breads are astonishing. I've never seen anything like it. I just _have_ to taste it.

"Goodbye," I say, stalking toward the tables, where the other tributes are already starting to gather.

Stark knits his eyebrows together, confused. "Where are you going?"

"Lunch!" is my short reply.

Another laugh.

* * *

**Okay, I admit, this was a bit boring.**

**But it's only the first day of training and I wanted to get it over with.**

**Listen to my excuses. I sound ridiculous.**

**Anyways, I expect a detailed review on this mediocre chapter, like it or not.**

**Okay, fine, I'm just kidding. But I would still like you to review.**

**See-ya! **

** ~ Arielle**


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